“That is very possible, monseigneur; but it is the king who makes marechals of France, and Raoul will never accept anything of the king.”
Raoul interrupted this conversation by his return. He preceded Grimaud, whose still steady hands carried the plateau with one glass and a bottle of the duke’s favorite wine. On seeing his old protege, the duke uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
“Grimaud! Good evening, Grimaud!” said he; “how goes it?”
The servant bowed profoundly, as much gratified as his noble interlocutor.
“Two old friends!” said the duke, shaking honest Grimaud’s shoulder after a vigorous fashion; which was followed by another still more profound and delighted bow from Grimaud.
“But what is this, count, only one glass?”
“I should not think of drinking with your highness, unless your highness permitted me,” replied Athos, with noble humility.
“Cordieu! you were right to bring only one glass, we will both drink out of it, like two brothers in arms. Begin, count.”
“Do me the honor,” said Athos, gently putting back the glass.
“You are a charming friend,” replied the Duc de Beaufort, who drank, and passed the goblet to his companion. “But that is not all,” continued he, “I am still thirsty, and I wish to do honor to this handsome young man who stands here. I carry good luck with me, vicomte,” said he to Raoul; “wish for something while drinking out of my glass, and may the black plague grab me if what you wish does not come to pass!” He held the goblet to Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips, and replied with the same promptitude: